


From the Dark

by legoline



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legoline/pseuds/legoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's dead, but he's not gone.</p><p>Set between 2x21 and 2x22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> All love goes to Embroiderama for the swift beta.

One minute he’s on the ground, burning pain in his back as if someone’s stabbed him with a fire poker, and there’s Dean running towards him, holding him and saying something Sam can’t understand. Like words under water. And even though he tries to listen Dean’s voice fades away, like the noise of a train leaving the station until everything goes silent, and he slips from Dean’s reach and everything grows dark.

Suddenly he’s standing next to Dean in the abandoned ghost town, and Dean’s still kneeling in the mud holding Sam’s limp body. And he’s crying, and rocking the lifeless shell, and he’s saying Sam’s name over and over again. His face is buried in Sam’s hair, and he’s clinging to the dead body as if he could bring it back to life by pure will. 

Sam stands and watches. He knows he’s dead. He’s calm about it, and that astonishes him. Maybe you get like that when you die. 

There are steps on the mud, approaching fast and then Bobby is there. He stops before Dean and stares at the scenery with his eyes wide open and his face lined with horror. His hand shakes as he lifts it to cover his mouth, “Oh no.” His voice is low and unsteady, not like Bobby at all. 

Sam watches as Bobby tries to seperate Dean from Sam’s body, and Dean shakes his head in refusal and hollers that he’s not going anywhere until Sam wakes up. Bobby keeps talking, voice soft and soothing now. “He’s gone Dean. He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

Dean looks up and nods faintly; he finally understands. Sam follows them as they both walk back to the Impala, as Dean carries Sam’s body back to the place that used to be their home for years - the only place that truly ever belonged to them.

Bobby drives and Sam occupies the passenger seat, while Dean is in the backseat still holding on to Sam’s body. He doesn’t say a thing, just looks out of the window into the dark with tears running down his cheeks, but his right hand is on Sam’s face, his fingers gently running over the cheeks that will laugh no more. 

And as Sam turns his gaze from Dean to Bobby he sees that there are tears in Bobby’s eyes, too.

***

Bobby must have known of the old hunting cabin where they lay down Sam’s body on an old rusty bed. Sam would joke that there are probably fleas in the mattress, but he can’t speak. He’s disembodied. Is he a ghost, and if not then what is he? Did he get stuck? Why is he still here?

Dean cries like Sam’s never seen him cry before. He’s seen the facade crack a couple of times, Dean on the verge of crying, Dean allowing a single tear to be shed. But never has Sam Dean seen actually cry, weep – and it’s such a scary sight Sam looks away, but he still can hear Dean sob and sniff. 

Dean’s sitting by the bed, and he’s crying – crying as if that could bring Sam back. Bobby talks to him, says that he’s sorry and that Sam was a good person but Dean doesn’t reply, and Sam’s not sure Dean actually hears Bobby. Sam wants to help, but he can’t. It’s out of his hands, and all he can do is watch. 

Maybe it’s an out-of-body experience, maybe he’s going through the same thing Dean did. Only he is definitely dead, so he can’t go back to his body. It doesn’t make sense.

Bobby comes in and tells Dean he should sleep a little. He pulls Dean up when he doesn’t respond and guides him to another room with another bed, covered in a blanket from the trunk of the Impala. Dean follows like a will-less ragdoll, sits down on the matress when Bobby says so, lies down as Bobby gently pushes his shoulder down to manouver Dean into a lying position. Dean’s eyes are fixed on some vacant spot far away, and he doesn’t even look at Bobby as if he’s not aware of the man’s presence. Bobby pats Dean on the hand and leaves, but returns with a chair shortly afterwards to sit down and watch Dean. 

Dean’s staring at the ceiling and remains still, but he doesn’t sleep. Sam’s not entirely sure Dean knows the concept of sleep anymore. If Sam still had a body he’d probably feel a lump grow in his throat now, or his stomach tying into a knot. But he’s dead, and his body is lying in the other room, and what is he? 

Hours pass, and Dean doesn’t stir, doesn’t sleep either. Every now and then tears still run down his face and drip on the bed, Dean doesn’t even lift his hand to wipe them away. Sam sits on the ground, knees pulled up – he still looks like he has a body – at least to him -, only he can’t feel much. There’s a sob from the bed as Dean starts to cry again. Sam rises to his feet and walks over to the bed, placing his spectre hand on Dean’s shoulders. “Dean,” Sam says gently, “get some sleep. I’m here.” 

Dean can’t hear him and he sure can’t see him, or feel his touch, but Sam’s words do something, strangely enough. The tears cease, at least for a while, and Dean finally closes his eyes and his breath evens out. 

Maybe that’s why I’m still here, Sam thinks.

He stays by Dean’s side until the morning, until grey dim light spills in through the smudgy window panes. 

***

Dean never leaves Sam’s body, not really. Sometimes he sits on the chair by the bed, or sometimes he leans for hours against the door frame, his red-cried eyes fixed on the body. Other times he sits down on the ground, against the wall and Sam sits down opposite to him, watching his brother. Dean can’t see him, and he doesn’t seem to be aware of Sam’s presence. He’s not a psychic, Sam tells himself. 

He wishes now that he’d been more careful, and made sure Jake wouldn’t come after him. It’s not like death is that bad, but what his death is doing to Dean is beyond everything he ever dared to guess.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough,” Dean mutters quietly when he’s sure Bobby can’t hear him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see him coming at me,” Sam whispers, even though Dean can’t hear him.

Sam tells Dean that he’s sorry over and over again, and he begs Dean to stop crying and not give up. Dean never talks when Bobby comes to check on him, all Bobby will get out of Dean are sharp No’s and Yes’s. Dean refuses to eat, and he refuses to leave Sam’s body alone. Bobby’s trying hard to help, being as gentle yet assertive as he can possibly be, urging Dean to take care of himself, but it’s not much use. Dean’s shutting himself in, building walls around him brick by brick, and soon enough nothing will be able to reach him anymore.

Maybe Sam could tear the walls dow, he’s done it before. But if he was there to do that, Dean wouldn’t be so lost and hurt in the first place.

Bobby leaves to get some food, Dean acknowledges it with a nod. His face is a painting of white skin and red eyes, scary and distinct. Sam crawls closer to him, over the ground until he sits beside him. 

“You gotta be ok, “ Sam tells him, no, _begs_ him. “I can’t leave you knowing you won’t be fine.”

Bobby’s been away for five minutes when Dean pulls a pistol from under bed. What it’s been doing or who put it there Sam can’t tell, and he watches nervously as Dean’s fingers touch the weapon lovingly. Insanity sparkles in Dean’s eyes now, and as his lips curve to a smile he lifts the gun up, barrel facing him. 

There’s a moment when time stands still, and nothing moves. Dean’s finger now curled around the trigger itches. Nothing’s holding him here any longer.

“Dean, no, “ Sam says softly, putting his hand on Dean’s arm. If he could still cry he would now. He’s only a disembodied whatever, and is that enough to save your brother? Dean blinks, but his eyes never leave Sams body. He’s shattered already, pieces spread all over the ground. Could Sam patch him up if he tried? Would Dean fall apart again everytime Sam added a new piece to the puzzle, like a house of cards?

The pistol is still in Dean’s hand, still waiting to be fired. But Dean doesn’t pull the trigger. “Dean,” Sam says again, “please no.” He pushes Dean’s arm down gently, and even though Sam can’t grasp or hold any material, Dean’s arms sinks as if giving way to soft pressure. The pistol falls to the floor as Dean’s finger’s lose their grip, and Dean leans his head back against the wall. Frustrated tears flow down pale cheeks again, and Dean bangs his head against the wooden planks angrily until Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean stops.

Sam watches when Bobby returns and Bobby and Dean have a fight over Sam’s burial. He hears the words, he hears Dean’s bitterness and he tells him “Bury me, bury my body, it’ll help you.” Of course, Dean doesn’t hear him. Sam had thought Dean was in a tail-spin after Dad died, but that was nothing compared to this. Dean’s not angry, he’s done with the world, with life. He hates everything in it. He wants to lay down and die.

Bobby leaves and Dean sits by the body again, crying, telling stories from when they were little. Sam sits by the wall and listens, and says, “You did take care of me, you did.” Dean doesn’t hear. He gets angry, even though Sam pleads him not to. 

“You scare me,” Sam whispers, “Promise you won’t do something stupid.”

But of course Dean does.

Sam knows what Dean’s up to the moment Dean rushes out of the cabin to the Impala. He doesn’t even need to see the box that Dean prepares, the photo of himself he puts in there. Sam’s in the passenger seat even before Dean climbs behind the wheel. 

He’s driving so fast Sam’s afraid he’ll crash into a tree. The car howls through the night, the engine almost at its limits. Dean doesn’t care how he treats his baby, not tonight. He’s got the looks of a madman, a madman who’s got nothing to lose. 

“Dean, don’t do this.”

Dean accelerates.

“I’m begging you, don’t do this.” 

If only he had still tears to cry, yes, he’d cry now. Dean’s going to sacrifice himself, and there’s nothing Sam can do about it. “I’m okay!” he yells, “I’m going to be fine!”

He tries to argue with Dean, but there’s really no point when Dean can’t hear him. He puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, but this time there’s no use. It doesn’t ease things, it doesn’t calm Dean down. Maybe Dean’s too upset. Maybe this is beyond Sam’s power. 

Sam’s screaming as Dean makes the deal, and the crossroads demon knows that he’s there. It’s not surprising – she smiles at him, a devilish smile that chills Sam to the bones of his disembodied self. 

“Dean, no, don’t, Dean...” Sam begs. Dean doesn’t hear. Even if he could he’d probably ignore Sam. 

She asks him about the deal, whether Dean accepts the terms, and Sam watches helplessly as Dean bends forward to kiss her, without hesitation, without second thoughts. He watches as he throws his life away like garbage that nobody wants anyway to save his brother.

And from the dark Sam wakes up on an old worn bed, and the last thing he remembers is pain and Dean running towards him.

-end-


End file.
